


Lovely, Dark, and Deep

by lordmxrphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (some violence but nothing worse than what's on the show), Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Red Riding Hood AU, Romance, Secret Relationship, adapted fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5179286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke grow up together in Arksmouth, a village cowering in the shadow of a wolf. The wolf is only kept at bay by monthly sacrifices of the town’s livestock on the full moon. When the wolf murders Harper, Clarke’s sister, killing for the first time in 20 years, Clarke is caught in the middle of a wolf hunt. Who can she trust when even Bellamy, her best friend and the man she’s fallen in love with, could be the wolf?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out the edit I made:)](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/post/126344892112/bellarke-red-riding-hood-au-bellamy-and-clarke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It starts in the woods. Of course it does. Everything in Clarke's life leads back to those woods._
> 
> _(It’s where she meets him.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been tinkering around with this AU for a while and I decided I just needed to get it POSTED. I'll make this a priority depending on feedback... So let me know if you're interested in reading more!

It starts in the woods. Of course it does. Everything in Clarke's life leads back to those woods.

(It’s where she meets him.) 

Clarke's hair is coming out of her tight braid, blond wisps of hair curling around her forehead and ears. Mud splatters dry on her pretty white day dress. She hates her pretty day dress. Her mother always tells her she looks like “a little lady” when she wears it. The fabric is stiff and the collar itches. The fine fabric catches on branches and the hem gets wet and dirty from the ground. 

She’s sketching a horse when the snap of a twig makes her look up, eyes searching for the source of the sound. 

A boy stumbles over the roots of tree. He curses. Spouting a word her her father sometimes uses when he stubs his toe on a chair or cuts his thumb while cooking. A word her mother would wash Clarke’s mouth out with soap for saying. 

The boy looks about her age. Maybe one or two years older than her. (She just turned ten this past winter.)

He passes right beneath her, oblivious to her hiding spot up in the branches of the tree. She barely catches a glimpse of the boy before he disappears behind the next tree, a mess of dark curls and freckles. Something about him tugs at her chest, begging her to follow. 

She climbs down from her tree and tucks her sketchbook safely into the nook in its trunk. 

He’s an odd sight. People don’t tend to wander this far into the wood. All the children, herself included, are warned very young to keep inside the gates of the village. 

When her mother sends her to fetch water she always warns her to stick to the path, not to talk to strangers, to go straight home. And at first she listened. But soon she was wandering, exploring. Climbing, running. Free and farther each time. 

She knows she shouldn’t wander from the path; she knows the danger the woods hold is real. She’s heard stories of the wolf. 

But the woods don’t feel scary or threatening. They feel like magic. Full of secrets, full of wonder. An adventure. The woods are wild. Free. They aren’t crowded and cowed by messy bodies and petty spats. 

And She’s always careful, never leaving the village on the days before the full moon. 

She quickly catches the boy, shadowing him as he moves quietly through the woods. His hair is shaggy, too long, drifting into his eyes. Freckles dust his nose and cheeks. His shirt is thin and threadbare; his pants have a hole in the knee. He reminds her of a story she once heard, of the winds of the world trapped in a bag. Bursting at the seams. 

She trails him. Dancing in the shadows of the trees, hiding behind their massive trunks. It's fun. A game. 

A twig cracks under her boot and he whirls around. She ducks behind a tree, her eyes screwed shut, as if that will help stop him from seeing her.

“Who’s there?”

She tries to quiet her breathing, bark digging into her back. She hears him take a few hesitant steps in her direction. Well. The game had to end at some point. 

She steps out from behind the tree. He starts, stepping back in surprise. She grins, seeing that she caught him off guard.

“Why are you out in the woods?” he asks, brow furrowed. A blade dangles by his side, forgotten. He must have been brandishing it in front of him.

She shrugs, “Why are _you_ out in the woods?” 

His eyes, deep and brown, bore into her, seeking something. She’s not sure what he’s looking for, but after a moment he turns, continuing on his way before speaking.

“I’m hunting.” 

“Really? With what?” She falls into step beside him. His strides are longer than hers, but she keeps up just fine. He’s still holding the blade, but he doesn’t seem have a bow or knife as far as she can tell.

“I set traps.” She looks at him in surprise. His chest puffs up a little. 

She’s impressed, she doesn’t know much about hunting, although her father did teach her to wield a knife last year when he caught he sneaking out past the fence.

The boy leads her deeper into the woods, sneaking looks at her as if checking to make sure she’s still there. The third time he does it she asks, “What’s your name?”

“Bellamy,” he replies softly, sounding oddly unused to introducing himself.

“I’m Clarke,” she smiles, bright and easy. Red stains his cheeks and he looks back at the ground. 

She’s never brought anyone with her out into the woods. Not her older sister, Harper, or even Wells, her best friend. It’s her place. Her secret. 

Her tree is the only place that feels like her own. The branches are perfectly spaced for climbing and the hollows are perfect for storing secrets. If she climbs high enough she can see the edge of the fence around the village and the woodsmen chopping firewood outside the west gate. 

But this boy—blown in by the wind—seems special. She could share her forest with him, she thinks.

They come up on what must be one of Bellamy’s traps. A worn piece of rope covered in a scattering of leaves. Clarke watches Bellamy check the rope and cover it with a few more leaves before turning to keep moving through the trees. 

The next trap isn’t very far from the first, but, unlike the first trap, this one has caught something. 

The rabbit struggling, its hind leg captured in the rope. Bellamy quickly withdraws the short blade from his belt again. But the blade is dull and Clarke knows if he uses it all he’ll succeed in doing is torturing the poor creature. 

She’s not naïve, she knows where her meat comes from, but it seems cruel to prolong the rabbit’s suffering. So she removes the knife stored in her boot and holds it out to Bellamy, handle facing him. 

“Use this, it’ll be faster,” her voice thankfully steady.

Her father gave her the knife after catching her sneaking past the gate a few months ago.

_“If you’re going out there alone you should know how to defend yourself. There’s more than one kind of wolf in the forest.” Her dad’s eyes are serious. He presses the hilt of a slim knife into her hand, his calloused fingers wrapping hers in a firm grip around it._

_That week her father takes her with him on a supply run and while the horse rests he teaches her how to use the knife. How to defend herself. From animals, from monsters, and, though he doesn’t say it, from monsters dressed as men._

She knows her mother wouldn’t approve. 

Her mother is the village healer, and although their family isn’t the wealthiest in the town, her mother’s position garners a fair amount of respect. Clarke knows her mother hopes that Clarke will take over as town healer when she’s grows too old for the work. She’s already begun teaching Clarke the uses for herbs and often has her assist with patients, bringing clean water and cloths for a mother in labor or sitting with a woodsman, holding his hand while her mother closes the wound on his arm, offering small comforts. 

She enjoys the work. In theory the profession would be passed on to Harper, the oldest. But Harper’s never had a stomach for blood, her hands shake, and she hates the job anyways. 

 

Bellamy looks at her, if he’s surprised she’s carrying a knife he doesn’t say so. He just takes it from her with a nod and reaches for the rabbit. He holds the animal carefully, it squirms in his arms, desperate to get away. 

Realization strikes Clarke. _He can’t do it._

Bellamy drops the rabbit in rush. The animal is so frantic in it’s haste to get away that its hind leg, still snared in the rope, twists. There’s a snap. The leg bends at a grotesque angle. The poor rabbit wails in pain and Clarke’s heart breaks for it. 

She quickly snatches her knife from Bellamy’s hand and kneels down next to the animal. She runs a soothing hand over it’s back, trying to calm it before she quickly she slits the rabbits throat with a steady hand. 

Afterwards, the woods are still and quiet, as if even the trees are holding their breath. 

When she looks up Bellamy is watching her with a look akin to awe on his face. Blood coats the knife—her hands. She wipes them on her dress. There is no way she’ll be to explain her ruined dress to her mother. At least now she has an excuse to burn the thing. 

Clarke cleans off her knife while Bellamy ties the rope around the rabbit’s hind legs, fashioning a line that he loops around his shoulder to carry the dead animal on his back. 

He waits for Clarke to finish before leading her to the rest of the traps. There are only two others and they’re both empty. They pause at the last trap and Bellamy lays down the one rabbit on a log and takes out his blade. He tries to skin the animal with his blade, but it doesn’t work. Clarke pulls out her own knife once again and he wordlessly lets her do the task. 

She likes that he doesn’t insist on doing everything himself. When she tries to play with the other boys in the village they always insist on carrying the fake swords and slaying the wolf while Clarke has to play the princess. The one being saved. It’s not any fun. When they were all younger and it didn’t matter who played the princess and who the knight, Clarke would always play the wolf. And if wolves were allowed to win, she would have. But wolves never make it to the end of the story.

She doesn’t do a great job skinning the rabbit, but it’s not too bad. Once she finishes, she finds her way to the creek nearby. She knows the woods well enough that she has no trouble figuring out the way there. She expects Bellamy to take his catch and leave, she was the one following him around after all. But he surprises her, walking beside her down to the creek. They both rinse their hands in the crisp, clear water. Bellamy even splashes water on his face and cleans away the dirt. Water droplets catch his curls, making a few pieces of hair stick to his forehead. The air is warm and fresh with spring, but the creek water is cold and icy from trickling down the snowy mountains. 

Clarke’s hands are red and chapped once she finishes scrubbing dirt and blood from her finger nails. She pulls the braid from her hair, basking in the relief from the tight pressure it put on her scalp. 

She sprawls in a patch of grass bathed in sunlight by the creek, golden and warm. There’s a rustle and shuffle as Bellamy plops down beside her. 

The trees around them reach up to the sky like gentle giants, holding the earth in place. 

For a while the only sounds are their breaths and the trickle of the water over the rocks. Every now and then there a rustle in the trees as a bird or squirrel moves, it’s the kind of quiet that only comes with nature. Peace and silence surrounded by life. 

They stay there for a while. The sun shifts and after a while they’re lying in the shade as evening creeps in. Clarke knows her mother will be looking for her by now. Her mother doesn’t know where she disappears to most days. On Sundays she has more freedom, but she’s always expected back by supper. 

She gets up and Bellamy joins her, they walk back in quiet only interrupted by the rustle of wind or the scurrying of an animal thought the leaves. Clarke leads the way, familiar with the twists and turns of the forest. When they reach her tree she turns to face him.

“If you want to go hunting again, meet me here next Sunday at midday,” she says, ever the leader. She turns to walk away, but spins back around, “I really hope you come. I had fun,” she flashes him a quick smile before taking off, running back to the fence. Back to chores and real life.

**

After that, every Sunday they meet at her tree. And Clarke doesn’t even mind that the ancient oak tree she’s always claimed as her own doesn’t feel like her place anymore. Because it’s their place now. 

Clarke learns Bellamy’s mother is a seamstress, and that he has a younger sister, Octavia, who’s seven. 

Clarke tells him about her family. That her father’s a woodsman and her mother’s the town healer. About her older sister, Harper, who makes the best corn cakes in all of Arksmouth. 

He tells her he hates frogs more than anything and she whispers that’s she’s afraid of being alone in the dark. 

She never asks, but she knows he started hunting because his family can’t afford enough food. 

She spends every week looking forward to Sunday.

He feels like a dream sometimes. Her best friend she only sees in the forest. When she’s at home she wonders if she made Bellamy up. Conjured this messy haired, freckle-stained boy in her mind. And in the moments before he shows up at the tree she’ll have a flash of panic, absurdly worried that this whole thing is some elaborate fantasy. But he keeps showing up, and it keeps being real.


	2. the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As they grow older plenty of things change, but never the woods. Never Bellamy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you guys thought of this chapter in the comments!! 
> 
> (Right now my plan is for this to do lots of short chapters.. I'll be quicker updating this way:) )

As they grow older plenty of things change, but never the woods. Never Bellamy. 

**

The bark against her back catches on the fabric of her dress. Clarke's head falls back against the tree as Bellamy bites his way down her neck to press wet, desperate, open-mouthed kisses to her collar bone. 

Her finger dig into his shoulders, fists curling around the black fabric of his shirt. He kisses her mouth, tongue sliding between her lips to lick desperately into her. Her hands slide into his dark curls, tugging lightly until he groans against her lips. 

Clarke grins, and tugs Bellamy’s bottom lip between her teeth, their kiss deepening as they get lost in each other.

Bellamy’s the one who finally breaks away, hot breath gusting against her cheek. 

“I should get back,” his voice is deep, rough with gravel.

“No. Stay here. With me,” Clarke exhales between kisses across his jaw.

His breath stutters as she finds that one spot behind his ear, “I’m supposed to be back at work soon.” She drags her teeth across his earlobe, “Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to leave.”

She pulls back with a pout, but she understands. Bellamy needs his job, its unfair of her to ask him to sacrifice pay for a few minutes with her against the tree. 

Bellamy presses a quick kiss to corner of her lips, making her smile, “We’ll finish this later, I promise,” she nods. “Meet me after work?” he asks as his fingers tuck a blonde curl behind her ear.

“I can’t, we’re having the Jahas over for dinner tonight. I have to be there.”

Bellamy’s shoulders stiffen like they always do when the topic comes up. It’s no secret that Clarke’s mother wants her to marry Wells. The Jahas are one of the richest families in town and Wells’s father is the mayor, on top of that. Abby wants the money and status the union would bring. 

“Bell, stop. You know Wells and I don’t want to get married.”

“Both your families have been planning a marriage between you two since you were kids,” he glares at the ground, “He can offer you so much more than I ever could.”

Clarke grasps his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes, “I don’t care. I don’t want Wells. I want you, Bellamy. I grew up with Wells, we love each other like siblings. It’ll never be more than that. You’re the one I want to kiss,” she punctuates the sentence with a press of her lips against his, “The one I want to touch,” she slides her hand down his chest, across the lines of hard muscle beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, “You’re the one I love, Bellamy. Even if you are an ass half the time.”

He huffs a laugh and kisses her again, this time deep and slow, a push and pull of soft lips and tongues. 

“I love you,” he says against her lips. He untangles himself from her, “I should go,” he says reluctantly. 

He pecks her cheek and straightens his shirt before leaving her. She hears the sway of greeting that meets Bellamy as he rejoins the other woodsmen. 

She’s just slipping through the break in the fence when she hears the loud and ominous blast of a horn. 

The blood drains from her face. Her heart beat picks up. She trips over her skirts as she rushes forward into the street. People are rushing, everyone moving in the same direction—towards the the north square.

She joins the current of her neighbors, letting them drag her along. They chatter, but the ocean of noises crashes against her ears without registering. A mass of people is congregated in the square. They part in front of her as they recognize her face. Their voices dull to hushed whispers. 

Her hands tremble as she sees the scattered looks across people’s faces as they turn and see her. Pity. Fear. Worry. Shine in their eyes and expressions.

In the square, a group stands in a clump given a wide berth by the crowd. The world goes quiet when she spots the body on the ground. Blood blooms in a pool, the dark red stains clothes and dries in hair and on pale, blue-tinted skin. 

She doesn’t remember moving forward but suddenly she’s falling to her knees beside the body on the ground, face blank and empty while in her mind screams vibrate her skull. 

Her sister. _Her sister._ Harper. Lying dead and lifeless on the cold, dirty ground. 

Her mother and her father stand a few feet away, wrapped in each other’s arms. But Clarke just kneels, immobile, eyes glued to her sister. On the blank and empty look in her eyes, the spark of life now extinguished. 

She barely has the presence of mind to notice the deep, raw claw marks across her sister chest, that tear her sister’s dress, and her body, to ribbons. 

All around her people whisper. Only one word reaches Clarke through the haze of grief and death. 

_Wolf._


	3. wolf hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of finding Harper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update, guys!! I've been struggling with the plot of this fic, but I think I've got it figured out, so I'm hoping to get more updates out soon!
> 
> Please leave a comment letting me know your thoughts! Hearing what you guys think means a lot!
> 
> (Un-betaed. All mistakes are my own.)

Dried blood crusts on the skirts of her dress, but she can’t bring herself to care. She feels blank. Empty. 

She thinks back to just a few nights ago; Harper had told Clarke she had a secret. She can still see the flash of her sister’s smile, bright and full of life. The memory twists before her eyes. Echoes of laughter and hushed whispers resound in her mind, the thoughts coalescing into the twisted bastard child of dream and nightmare. 

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut and leans her hands against the table in front of her, a wave of grief sweeping over her. 

That night, she had tried to get Harper to tell her what she meant, but Harper thrived on attention and she loved teasing Clarke. So of course, she never told Clarke what the secret was. And now she never would. But Clarke can’t be angry at Harper for keeping secrets. After all, Clarke never told her about Bellamy.

Now, she can’t help but wonder if Harper’s secret that night had anything to do with why she’d been in the north square last night on a full moon. 

Clarke shakes away the thought to focus on the task at hand. She wipes a tear from her cheek and grabs a tonic from the shelf in front of her. Then she turns back to Wells. 

He’s sitting on the work table with his back against the wall. His right arm is holding his left elbow, his face twisted with pain. Two uneven lines bisect his chest while his left arm hangs against his side at an unnatural angle, shoulder obviously dislocated. 

“I just…I don’t understand why it didn’t kill me,” he says through clenched teeth as Clarke first cleans and dresses the cuts. 

Clarke shakes her head; she doesn’t understand either. 

Last night, Wells had been working late at the shop sorting through books (and probably getting lost in one, if Clarke had to guess), when he’d heard Harper’s scream. He’d arrived too late to save Harper, but he’d seen the hulking creature—the _wolf_ —standing over her body. 

The scratches on Wells’s chest are shallow, barely piercing the skin. (Almost like the wolf didn’t mean to scratch him.) Clarke shakes her head. It doesn’t make sense. 

“It just—it just shoved me against the wall and disappeared,” Wells goes on, “It killed Harper, why not me?”

“I don’t know, Wells. I really don’t,” Clarke whispers. Thinking about last night hurts. She can’t let herself dwell on what happened. On the whys. 

“I have to set your shoulder,” she says, straightening, “It’s going to hurt a lot,” she hands him a piece of leather, “You probably want to bite down on this.”

Wells hisses in pain when Clarke shoves his shoulder back into place.

There’s not much else she can do for Wells now, she sighs and leans her hip against the work table. Her mind drifts, she wonders what’s happening at the town hall right now. 

What course of action will the town take now that the wolf has killed someone? Clearly, the monthly sacrifices of livestock, meant to maintain a peace with the beast, were no longer enough. This morning the air buzzed with tension and fear. It’s been twenty years since the last wolf attack. 

Wells knows Clarke well enough to presume the direction of her thoughts. 

“Go. To the town meeting,” he adds at her look. “She was your sister, Clarke. You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you don’t do something.” 

He smiles, weak with pain and tainted by sadness (Harper was his friend too), but encouraging. Clarke nods, Wells is her closest friend aside from Bellamy, and though she resents the marriage their parents have planned between them, she doesn’t hold the arrangement against Wells. He’s just as much a pawn as she is. He’s a good man, kind, and Clarke thinks that if it weren’t for Bellamy, she could have been happy marrying Wells. 

“I promise not to leave you alone with my mother for too long,” she says.

She cleans the blood off her hands in the cold water of the basin then disappears into the closet to pull on a pair of trousers. She ditches her blood stained skirts but keeps the fitted bodice and pulls a leather shirt overtop it. She slides a black cloak over her shoulders. Today of all days, she doesn’t want to stand out in the crowd. 

She checks the always present knife in her boot. The touch of cool metal against the skin puts her at ease, at once familiar and dangerous. She slides another dagger into a strap on her forearm, beneath her leather sleeve. When she emerges, she can hear her mother shuffling medicines in the back.

Wells is still on the table, but he grins at the sight of her get up. He’s one of the only people who knows that she hunts in the woods.

She leans forward to press a kiss to Wells’s cheek, careful not to knock his injured arm. It’s a thank you and an apology. His expression tells her he understands. 

She turns to leave and comes face to face with Bellamy in the doorway. His jaw clenched and his eyes are hard. Angry. With a jolt she realizes he’s reacting to her exchange with Wells.

The door stands open behind him, letting gusts of cold air into the infirmary. Luckily, her mother still hasn’t emerged from the back yet, but Clarke knows she could be out any second. 

She sets her jaw and shoves Bellamy out the door in front of her, her hands firm against his hard chest.

She drags him behind her and once they’re safely hidden in the dark space between two cabins, Clarke spins to face Bellamy, irritation clawing under her skin, “What the hell were you thinking, Bellamy?! My mother could have seen you!” 

The shadows blur his features, but she can see his anger in the stiff line of his mouth.

“Sorry if I was interrupting something.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You know there’s nothing going on between me and Wells.”

“You’re going to marry him.”

“But I love _you_. And I’m not going to let my mother marry me off to Wells, no matter what she says.” 

Bellamy huffs. “I just hate that we have to hide.”

She takes his hand, her cold fingers sliding between his.

“I know, I hate it too, but right now it’d be too dangerous if my mom found out. She holds too much sway in this town. She could make your life hell.”

Bellamy leans his forehead against hers. His eyes are closed when he speaks, “Sometimes… Sometimes, I wish we could just leave. Run away together,” he whispers. The words are soft and careful, they sound like a precious secret. 

She doesn’t know what to say so she kisses him. He knows that if running away were a real option she would go with him in a heartbeat. 

Bellamy kisses deeply, lips soft and coaxing. Clarke’s toes curl in her boots. 

He pulls away and they stand there for a moment, drinking in one another’s presence. Clarke leans her head against her chest, letting him support her weight. He’s the only person she’s ever let hold her up. 

His thumb traces a soft line across her jaw, “I’m sorry about Harper, Clarke.”

She takes a shaky breath, “Me too.” 

Bellamy’s words pull her back from grief-stricken thoughts, “Kane is organizing a hunt at town hall. They’re going after the wolf. Octavia and I both volunteered to go.” 

She straightens, rolling her shoulders back before meeting his eyes. Something like anger hardens in her chest.

“I’m coming with you.”

Bellamy smiles ruefully, the gesture holds no mirth, “I had a feeling you would say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't yet, check out [the edit I made on tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/post/126344892112/bellarke-red-riding-hood-au-bellamy-and-clarke):) And if you have time, please leave a comment letting me know your thoughts!


	4. festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They come back with the head of a wolf._

They come back with the head of a wolf. It’s fashioned onto a pike and Murphy, a boy slightly younger than Clarke, carries the prize into town, followed by cheers as people celebrate the death of half a century of fear. They’re free, after all. Free from the wolf. No more sacrificing the best livestock. No more curfews during the full moon.

But Clarke doesn’t feel like celebrating. She hangs back from the group returning from the hunt, slipping into the shadows as everyone else makes their way to the tavern to celebrate. Bellamy looks like he wants to say something, to stand by her, but they're surrounded by neighbors. By prying eyes and loose lips, so he lets himself be carried along with the crowd of revelers. 

Clarke makes her way slowly back to her cabin, ignoring the looks and whispers as people catch sight of her.

Her hands shake as she remembers the burst of fear she had felt in the cave. It had been dark and dank and it smelled like fresh death. But despite the setting, she hadn’t let the fear control her. No, what scared Clarke most wasn’t the rotting smell permeating the air or the possibility of an encounter with a beast. What terrified her now was the cold rage that had pulsed through her veins. The calm and collected way she contemplated slitting the wolf’s throat. Her hand had been steady, her feet sure. She thinks back to that first day in the woods with Bellamy. How she had killed the rabbit so easily. _It’s not normal_ , she thinks, _to be this comfortable with death_. 

She’d been ready for a fight, but she never got one. At a split in the wolf’s cave, they had divided the groups and each group had continued on separately in the tunnels. Octavia had been the one to slay the wolf. But before the girl had taken the animal down it had killed again, taking another one of their own. This time, it was a man named Kane. An old friend of her father’s. 

Her father was one of the men tasked with carrying the body back into town. Earlier in the day, Clarke had noticed her father sipping from a flask, something he’d been doing since they discovered Harper’s body. He’d finished whatever was in the flask before they even made it back to the village. When Clarke had passed him, he’d smelled so strongly of liquor that you couldn’t even detect the foul odor of blood and death they all carried back with them from the cave. She’d never seen her father like this before, but Clarke was learning the pain of grief transformed people. 

The toll of her sister’s and Kane’s deaths weighs heavily on Clarke, it presses down on her even as the rest of the village rejoices, as they laugh and cheer and decide to celebrate with a festival. The thought of a party makes Clarke want to throw up.

But, of course, her mother insists that Clarke participate in the festivities. _To keep up appearances_. Abby braids her hair and picks out a dress for Clarke. 

Her father stumbles into the cabin as Clarke finishes getting ready. His eyes are glassy and the stench on alcohol stings her nose. Because while the rest of the town is busy celebrating, Clarke’s family is busy forgetting.

Clarke decides to forget too. When she arrives at the festival she immediately reaches for the wine, finishing one mug before starting in on another. It doesn’t take long for her brain to start to feeling buzzy. The air feels lighter so she lets Raven pull her over to join the group dancing in the square. They dance alongside Monty and Miller, they move to the beat of drums and pluck of strings and Clarke lets herself be carried away by the music. 

Her limbs feel loose and her chest feels warm. She pulls her hair out of its braid and just lets herself go. The torches blaze against the night, tinting the night gold. Clarke catches sight of Bellamy standing at the edge of the square. He’s watching her and she recognizes the hungry look in his eyes. She’s feeling reckless and brave. She beckons him forward. He shakes his head, eyes dancing with laughter when she huffs in frustration. She’s still thinking about Bellamy’s smile when Raven pulls Clarke in close as they dance. Clarke grins and whispers a quick explanation to her friend before pulling away from the throng of dancers. Raven levels her with a smirk before turning back to grab Monty’s hand as they spin to the music. 

In a blink, she’s in front of Bellamy. She grabs his hand and pulls him behind her as she crosses into the shadows of a building on the edge of the main square currently housing the celebrations. 

She finds an empty room lit by a torch and pulls Bellamy inside. Her lips capture his in a deep kiss before he can say much of anything.

She expects him to protest. To break away regretfully and tell her how dangerous this is. To remind her of what would happen if they got caught. She expects the scene to play out like it has a hundred times: with one of them retaining their rationality. But Bellamy doesn’t say anything, he just kisses Clarke back as feverishly as she kissed him. 

They let themselves get lost in each other.

It’s not long before she wants more. Her fingers unlatch his belt and Bellamy groans as Clarke slides her hand into his pants to grasp him. He’s hot and hard in her hand. Both their breath comes in broken beats as she fumbles with his pants and he pushes up her skirts. For the first time, she’s grateful for her mother made her wear a dress.

They come together. Against the wall. Hot breath against necks and wet mouths skimming skin. They tumble and crest with choked moans and hushed ‘I love you’s. 

She kisses him, tastes the sweat on his skin as they both come down from their highs, breathless, still pressed against the wall and each other.

“I should go before someone comes looking for me,” she whispers, wishing for the thousandth time that they didn’t have to hide. But she knows that if her mother found out, she would make sure Bellamy and Octavia were no longer welcome in town. Abby could make the Blake’s lives miserable, and Clarke knows that the siblings have struggled enough. Bellamy’s been working with Clarke father as a woodman since before his mother died and Octavia took over her mother’s seamstress shop with Bellamy after Aurora passed away. The last thing Clarke wants is for their relationship to be another burden for Bellamy to bear.

They untangle slowly. Bellamy presses sweet, affectionate kisses along her shoulder as she straightens her dress. She presses a kiss to his cheek and leaves him with a smile on her face. 

She’s just rejoined Raven by the wine when a feral roar splits the air.

The music stutters to a halt as the musicians abandon their instruments in confusion. 

There’s a beat of silence.

Then a huge wolf—twice the size of the animal whose head is displayed on a pike in the center of the square—crashes through the crowd and chaos erupts. 

People scramble. Desperate to get away. Tables get knocked over along with barrels of wine. Fire goes out in torches as they hit the cold mud, leaving the villagers scrambling in a night that seems infinitely blacker. 

Screams pierce the air and Clarke runs. She loses Raven in the crowd but turns when she hears a desperate cry. A young girl, Charlotte she thinks, is struggling to get up from the ground where she tripped. Her hand is bleeding and her wrist looks broken, but Clarke doesn’t have time to check. She helps the girl up and leads her into the dark streets, hopefully putting distance between them and the monster ripping through town. 

When another roar slices the air it seems farther away. 

Clarke leads the girl towards the infirmary. As they get farther from the main square the sound of screams and chaos turn to eerie silence. They’re alone. Their only company the noise of their own breaths. They need to get to shelter, but all the houses they pass are locked and dark. They make it to the street across from the infirmary when Charlotte freezes.

The hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck prickle before she hears the creature’s heavy pants. She turns slowly and is met with gleaming fangs. 

The wolf is three times the size of any normal dog and reeks of death. Its fur is black and matted and everything about the monster looks wild. Except its eyes. When Clarke sees the wolf’s eyes her stomach twists and her hands shake. Muddy brown irises surrounded by white. They look… _human_. 

Her back hits the wall of a cabin, wood scraping against her spine. Beside her, Charlotte’s crying. Clarke wonders if the last sound she’ll ever hear are the other girl’s terrified, muffled sobs.

But just when she thinks her life couldn’t get any more terrifying…

The wolf speaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, things are getting more intense! Leave me a comment letting me know what you thought of the chapter!


	5. brown eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She blinks but can’t shake the image of the wolf’s eyes. They were brown. Human. Almost…familiar. The thought makes her feel sick to her stomach._

The wolf disappears just before the sun peaks over trees and light bathes the village. The full moon has vanished with the onset of the sunrise.

But the wolf’s words echo in her head. _You could be free. Come with me._

She blinks but can’t shake the image of the wolf’s eyes. They were brown. Human. Almost…familiar. The thought makes her feel sick to her stomach.

_I’ll be back. Tonight, with the blood moon. I’ll be back for you._

…

The town hall is a mess. Shot through with fear and panic.

People yell and argue, they talk over one another in desperate attempts to be heard but don’t listen what the neighbor next to them is saying. 

The slam of the door finally shuts people up as they catch sight of the figure now standing in their midst.

Thelonious Jaha.

When he speaks, the whispers quiet. His voice trumpets with authority, it’s no wonder he was elected town mayor. 

“Fighting and argument will get us nowhere. This is a time of great tragedy. Of great need. The wolf has broken the peace our fathers and grandfathers established. And I, for one, believe it’s time that once and for all we are rid of this beast.”

“But we killed the wolf!” shouts a voice swallowed by the crowd.

“You killed _a_ wolf. We saw our true adversary last night. Did you notice how large it was? How broad? Its head was twice the size of the animal you brought back on that pike. Now tell me, do you believe that we are dealing with any ordinary wolf?”

The crowd is silent as Jaha goes on, “We are dealing with a werewolf. Far more deadly than any natural beast. A werewolf is a man who wears wolf’s clothes. It deals in the same sin as those who practice witchcraft, and, for that reason, it is twice as deadly.

“The werewolf managed to fool us all. It tricked us into believing it lived in that cave up in the mountains. Yesterday, our hunters brought back nothing but an ordinary wolf’s head.

“My father was the minister of Arksmouth. He dedicated himself to the spiritual health of our village. And in his many years as the minister, he heard many stories. One spoke of a werewolf. Many elders thought it to be the same wolf haunting the village each month. Its legacy has been a long and bloody one in our town and over the many decades, the story was dismissed as folklore. I believe these stories to be true. I believe not only that the wolf can walk among us, unnoticed, but that it lives among us. Here, in this village. Perhaps in this very hall.”

Whispers break out among the villagers at Jaha’s words. Heads turn as friends and neighbors pull away from one another. Suspicion and panic spark the air.

Jaha goes on, unencumbered by the change of atmosphere in the room, “As mayor, I have issued an order to barricade the gates of the village. No one is allowed in and out, not even the huntsmen or tradespeople. Last night marked the beginning of the blood moon—” Clarke tenses. _The blood moon_. “—a phenomenon that only comes every twenty years. The full moon will last for three more days beneath the blood moon and in that time I intend to capture and kill the werewolf!” he shouts the last words, but the crowd remains quiet, high-strung with fear.

“Anyone with relevant information should come to me. I'll be in the church. I advise everyone to stay in tonight, lock your doors. Anyone out after dark will be considered a suspect and will be held until the end of the blood moon.”

With that, Thelonious leaves.

Clarke spins with the recent onset of information and events. A werewolf. She thinks about the human eyes staring back at her last night. 

As people exit the town hall, Clarke catches sight of Charlotte, the girl who’d been trapped with her last night. She calls out to her, but her voice is swallowed by the crowd and Charlotte disappears before Clarke can catch her. 

Clarke starts to make her way back to the infirmary to check on Wells when a hand shoots out and pulls her into the shadows.

She bites back the scream in her throat when she recognizes the large hand on her wrist.

She looks up and meets Bellamy’s eyes. _Brown eyes._ She thinks with a jolt and steps back.

Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice how she pulls away, “Clarke, are you okay? I was worried when I couldn’t find you last night.”

Her throat feels thick, “I saw the wolf, Bellamy.”

His eyes widen in alarm, “You what?!” He steps closer, “Clarke, you can’t tell Jaha.”

“What? Why not?” 

“Because if you saw the wolf and it didn’t hurt you, he might see that as a reason to suspect you of something. I don’t trust him. Please, promise me you won’t tell him.”

When he lifts a hand towards her face, Clarke steps away, every nerve on edge. All she can see are his eyes.

“Clarke, what’s wrong?”

She ignores his question and stares at the wall behind his shoulder, “I have to tell Jaha, I don’t have a choice. Charlotte was with me and if I don’t tell Thelonious and she does it will look even more suspicious.”

Bellamy swallows. He tries to move closer, but Clarke takes another step back.

“Clarke, what’s going on? Why are you... Why are you acting like you’re afraid of me?”

She can’t look him in the eye.

“Clarke…” Bellamy’s voice is hard, closed off, the way it gets when he’s hurt or angry, “You don’t—you can’t think that _I’m_ the wolf.””

“It had brown eyes,” she whispers.

Before Bellamy can respond, shouts explode down the street, carrying through the crisp winter air.

Clarke steps out into the street, followed by Bellamy. A crowd is gathering in front of the church. On the steps above them stands Thelonious. They make their way closer and Clarke notices another figure standing behind him. 

Charlotte.

Air flees her lungs. She wants to run. To hide. But Jaha catches sight of her and it’s too late. Her feet stop moving.

She watches as Charlotte steps forward and points a trembling finger at Clarke. 

Thelonious Jaha nods and his next words terrify Clarke as much as any encounter with the wolf.

“Clarke Griffin is hereby convicted of _witchcraft_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment with your thoughts!


	6. witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Her wrists are cuffed and she sits chained to a post._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to finish this fic before I go back to school (tomorrow, yikes), so there will probably be a few updates today. Only one more chapter and an epilogue left!!

Her wrists are cuffed and she sits chained to a post. As people pass, some whisper words of prayer (for her salvation of theirs, she’s not sure), some send her a sad smile, and more still spit curses. _Witch. Filthy Witch._ It breaks her heart to see neighbors, people she’s known her whole life, turn on her. 

All she does as people walk by and stare is note the color of their eyes. 

Raven sneaks Clarke some bread mid-afternoon. (Raven’s eyes are dark brown.) She takes the food gratefully; she hasn’t eaten anything in hours. 

Bellamy doesn’t come to visit and she’s angry at herself for the doubt that spreads through her like a poison. She knows—she _knows_ Bellamy could never have killed Harper. And yet, some panicked part of her feels like she can’t trust anyone.

Neither one of her parents come to see her. Betrayal hangs heavy in her gut. 

Inside the helmet Jaha’s placed on her, she feels her every hot exhale of breath as it’s trapped by the metal. She feels humiliated, betrayed, cut off from the world and on display. Angry tears drip down her chin as she chokes on her heart. ( _Stop_. She reminds herself that at least she can still breathe and see.)

That evening, Raven brings her dinner. And along with it, the first pinprick of hope Clarke’s felt since the town hall meeting this morning. 

“We’re going to get you out, Clarke. Bellamy and I, we have a plan. Don’t worry. We’re going to get you out.”

She leaves too quickly, a flash of brown eyes and she’s gone. 

All Clarke’s left to do is sit and wait, shackled to a pole in the middle of town as Jaha and his men prepare for nightfall and the coming of the wolf. 

The men are set up in towers and at every corner of the square, armed with arrows and swords.

Clarke’s become nothing but bait. She doesn’t know whether to hope for their success or failure. She has no idea what either would mean for her.

…

People lock and barricade their doors. Silence hangs like a cloak on the air. Soon, the sun sinks low on the horizon, darkness creeps up, and Clarke waits.

Just after the sun sets, she hears shouts and feels a blast of heat roll over her. It’s coming from the right corner of the square. She hears one of the guards yell “Fire!” and smiles. Raven’s always loved a good explosion.

Neighbors and Jaha’s men pour into the square as the fire begins to spread, they run by carrying buckets full of water and snow. They scramble, trying to stop the spread of flames. In the mayhem, no one notices the figure appear through the smoke beside her or sees them kneel on the ground and break the locks on her wrists. 

When Clarke pulls off the helmet and turns, Bellamy flashes her a grin and helps pull her up. Just before they reach cover, one of Jaha’s men spots them and sounds the alarm. An arrow flies by Clarke’s shoulder, narrowly missing its mark.

They sprint down one of the side streets. Bellamy leads, directing Clarke with the pull of his hand. They’re just nearing the break in the fence when a distant scream pierces the air quickly followed by a savage growl. Clarke’s stomach twists. 

The wolf has arrived.


	7. together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hands clasped they face the war of the night._

She and Bellamy run, hunted by wolf and neighbor alike. 

Her breath comes fast as she stops to draw her knife from her boot, thankful that Thelonious Jaha underestimated a teenage girl. 

They almost get caught by a pair of Jaha’s men, but Clarke pulls Bellamy behind a door at the last moment. They stand, chests pressed together, their breathing shallow as they wait for the heavy footfalls to pass. 

Another scream pitches the air and Clarke grabs Bellamy’s hand, latching onto it like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry I doubted you, Bell.”

He swallows and brings the hand not tangled with hers up to brush a lock of hair from her face. The gesture is delicate, but the kiss that follows is not. It’s biting and full of want. 

But this isn’t time or place, so they break away after a reckless moment. 

His voice is rough in her ear, “We’re in this together, Clarke. You and me.”

She nods and hands clasped they face the war of the night.

…

The wolf’s breath reeks. It’s hot and obscures her senses, overwhelming everything else.

_Clarke, come with me. Join me. I can give you everything you want. Power. Freedom._

They’re cornered in an alley with nowhere to run as the wolf stalks forward. 

Bellamy lunges forward with a knife. The wolf shoves him away easily. 

Bellamy’s back hits the wall with a sickening crunch. Clarke grip tightens on the knife by her side, hidden in the folds of her skirts. She takes advantage of the wolf’s distraction, lunging while the wolf has its head turned towards Bellamy. 

It’s not enough. The wolf reacts quickly and its jaw clamps down on her arm. She cries out and the wolf releases her immediately. It takes a step back. Then, inexplicably, it turns and disappears into the night without another word. 

Clarke’s knees hit the ground and she falls to her side, darkness flooding the edges of her vision. She drops her knife, but, before she lets herself be dragged into oblivion, she notices the patch of fur and blood on the sharp blade. 

The knife must have sliced across the wolf’s jaw when it bit her.

_Whoever the wolf is, they’re going to be sporting a mark from my knife._

(It’s the last thought she has before she passes out.)

…

When she wakes up, she’s lying in a bed, Bellamy’s worried face hovering over her. She blinks and groans. The worry in his expression transforms to relief. 

“Where are we?” 

“Your dad told me about this place. It belonged to your grandmother before she passed away. We’re far enough away from the village that no one will find us here.”

Clarke’s attempting to sit up when there’s a loud knock at the door.

“I thought you said no one would find us here.”

“No one should have been able to.”

Bellamy gets up to open the door. Clarke can’t see who it is, but the tension leaves Bellamy’s shoulders at the sight of the person standing there. 

“It’s okay, Clarke. It’s your dad,” he says. 

Clarke almost smiles, but then her dad steps into her line of vision and she’s scrambling across the bed, putting as much distance as she can between herself and the person standing there.

It’s her father. And there’s a fresh cut across his chin. 

The realization’s a blade in her back. _Her father’s the wolf._

The man who raised her watches Clarke with terrifyingly familiar brown eyes.

Bellamy’s by her side immediately, “Clarke? What’s wrong?”

Her dad ignores Bellamy, his eyes never leaving his daughter, “Clarke, you know why I’m here.”

“I don’t—I don’t understand. Why Harper? How could you—You _killed_ your own daughter.”

She can’t look away from her father to see Bellamy’s reaction. 

All she knows it that they have no chance. All of their weapons are across the room. Only Clarke’s knife is within reach, but it's lying on the table beside the bed and there’s no way to grab it without her father noticing.

“Harper wasn’t my daughter,” Jake snaps. “Turns out, when your mother married me, she was already pregnant with Marcus Kane’s child.”

Now she knows why Kane was the only one to die in the caves.

“Clarke, you can’t run from fate. Wolf blood has run in our family’s veins for almost a century. Each generation stronger than the last. And once you turn, you’ll be the strongest wolf yet. It will make you powerful. You’ll never have to abide by someone else’s rules again. You and Bellamy—” she flinches, “—could make a life together. Come with me.”

“You disgust me,” The words come from the doorway behind her father. In it stands her mother, holding a knife with a white-knuckled grip. 

Clarke’s fear spikes as she sees the sun drops behind the trees through the open door.

Within seconds, her father begins to shake and a moment later, a wolf stands in his place.

Clarke catches sight of Bellamy pulling a hot poker from the fire the same moment the wolf does. She shoves her body between Bellamy and her father just in time. The wolf’s teeth gleam, inches from her face. Rancid breath surrounds her.

“You’re a murderer,” she spits. “You killed people.” 

“They deserved it,” he growls, feral against her angry words. 

“Even Harper? She never did _anything_. You killed her for something she couldn’t control and had no knowledge of!”

She doesn’t even see the strike. One moment the wolf is baring its teeth inches from her face and the next it’s her father’s body she sees crumpling to the ground, a knife between his ribs. 

Clarke watches as her mother kneels before the man she’s been married to for twenty years and twists the hilt. 

The life flees her father’s eyes and his body goes limp.

Her mother sits on the floor as blood soaks her husband’s shirt and drips onto the floor.

Clarke can’t look away. All she can feel is the thump of her heart and Bellamy’s hand clasped in her own.


	8. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They start over in the woods._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally at the end! I hope you guys enjoyed the story, thank you to everyone who left kudos or comments, it really means a lot. If you liked the story or want to share any thoughts, please leave a comment or come find me on [my tumblr](http://lordmxrphy.tumblr.com/):)

They start over in the woods. 

The trees feel more like home than anything Clarke left behind in Arksmouth. She can never go back there anyway. There’s too much death, too much betrayal.

The wound on her arm, the last reminder of all that happened, takes longer to heal than she expects. She doesn’t know why until the next full moon. 

She realizes what’s happening in time to stumble outside into the wet snow before the pain of changing overtakes her. She drops to the ground, chest heaving and jaw clenched as her bones shift and crack, as fur sprouts from her skin. 

It happens between one breath and the next, but it feels like much longer. 

When she opens her eyes, the world looks the same. But she can smell Bellamy behind her, a mixture of leather, pine, and sweat. She hears his voice like he’s right beside her even though he’s fifteen feet away. 

Power thrums in her veins. She feels an instinctual hunger, a deep craving for a hunt. Her rational, human mind recoils in disgust. The only thing that’s clear is that she needs to get away. 

So she runs. And runs. And runs. Until her lungs protest with each step and her paws are frozen and numb. 

The night passes in a blur and when she wakes in the morning near the cabin. She lying naked on a patch of bare frozen ground. 

Her teeth are chattering and she pauses to lean against a tree when she hears him. Bellamy’s voice is hoarse as he calls her name. The gravel and crack of his words tell her that he’s been out all night. 

She’s shivering, icicles frozen are in her hair, and she feels like she’s about to collapse. When Bellamy sees her, he lets out a shaky breath. 

She whispers, “I’m sorry,” before collapsing into his arms.

…

She wakes to the creak of a door and low voices. Her nose picks up a new smell as it enters the cabin. It’s wild and smells like the forest. Not quite human, not quite animal. Instinctually, she recognizes the scent. _Werewolf_. 

She scrambles for her knife before the familiar timbre of the voices registers. 

She rushes into the main room of the cabin to find Raven and Wells. 

After a beat, understanding registers. She sees the way Wells curls into himself. Swallowed by guilt, by fear. It’s the same sentiment that curls in her belly as she thinks about what transpired last night. She remembers cleaning the deep claw marks on his arm a month ago. 

_There are two wolves in their pack._

…

Eventually, they leave her grandmother’s cabin. It’s too crowded with four people.

When spring thaws the last vestiges of winter, they decide to leave. The morning they set off, Octavia meets them at the cabin with Monty and Miller at her side. 

Clarke doesn’t even cast a glance behind her as she leaves the life she’s always known behind. All the family she needs is beside her. 

(She leaves a note for her mother, in case the woman ever comes looking for her at the cabin, but she can’t manage more. She thinks she was always meant to leave her mother behind.)

…

They start over in the woods. They erect a new life, nestled in the trees. 

Each full moon, she and Wells run free and far. They learn to harness their power. To control it. They never let bloodlust take hold. (It’s easier together.)

During the day, Clarke and Bellamy work on their separate projects, but, occasionally, Clarke will glance up from sorting medicinal herbs or helping Monty in the garden and catch him looking her way as he takes a break from chopping wood. 

More than once, the sight of Bellamy sweaty and dark from the sun proves too tempting and she pulls him behind a tree for a stolen moment with her back against the bark and his lips against hers. She muffles his groans with her mouth and smiles against his neck when he whispers how much he loves her. 

Nights, they tangle together and chase kisses from each other’s lips. 

Feverish and rushed sex becomes slow and toe-curling as time and space finally allow them to breathe easy in each other’s embrace. And when Bellamy falls asleep, Clarke listens to the beat of his heart, her head resting against his bare chest. His deep breaths and steady presence bring a smile to her lips as she settles into the peace and freedom they’ve built for themselves.

… 

They make it on their own. On their own, but together.

This is a happy ending.


End file.
